


Day 19 - Exhaustion

by broken_fannibal



Series: Whumptober 2018 [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (not explicit but the aftermath makes it very obvious), Abusive John Winchester, Cutting, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Depressed Dean Winchester, Dissociation, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Past Child Abuse, Self-Harm, Self-Harming Dean Winchester, Substance Abuse, Suicide Attempt, Time Travel, dean has a drinking problem, uhhh I think that´s all??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 12:51:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16347080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broken_fannibal/pseuds/broken_fannibal
Summary: Because of some time travel weirdness, John and Mary get transported to a time where their children are adults.In my mind, Dean is like 25 and Sam is 21. I know it doesn't fit in with the time John died in the series but in this version, he´s been dead for a couple of years.





	Day 19 - Exhaustion

Dean recognised them immediately. He had looked at the photo of his mom with little Sammy in her arms often enough.

His jaw clenched.

It took Sam a little longer. When he realised, he was speechless at first. He rushed towards them, greeted them and introduced himself. Judging by the way he gesticulated, he was very happy.

Dean stayed back. Just watched. He was still just close enough to hear their father's voice. It made him sick. It made him want to sink his fingernails into his forearms until the only thing he felt was the pain.

Instead, he clenched his fists and told himself that he was an adult now, his father didn’t have any power over him anymore.

Then John looked at him. And Dean’s stomach turned.

He couldn’t hear their voices anymore over the rushing of blood in his ears.

His mom came towards him, she smiled, said something. He tried to fake a smile but his face was a rigid mask.

Then Mary said something again.

He tried to read her lips. Something with “boy”.

She reached out to touch his face.

Dean couldn’t help it, he jerked back.

She frowned at him, worried.

Dean took a shaking breath. He tried to look up at her, to tell her he was sorry, to tell her... something. But no words came over his lips. He couldn’t. So he turned around and hurried to his room. To his room. His safeplace. His room. His safeplace. His safeplace. His safeplace. His safeplace.

He paced next to the bed, trying not to give into the habits he had worked so hard to stop doing. It would be easy to fall back to them now. The pain would take everything else away. Give him a single focus, take him away from... everything. All the bad memories he had kept down, suppressed, locked up in the back of his mind. But their parents’ arrival was like a wrecking ball, smashing the wall he had built and bringing on the flood of all the things he wanted to forget. He was drowning. Waves crashed over him again and again.

He was pulled from the darkness of his mind when he tasted iron. Blood. He opened his eyes, hadn’t realised he had closed them. There was a bloody spot on the wall.

Dean went to the bathroom, saw the trail of blood running down his face from his brow. He wiped it off with a wet cloth.

Dean tried to focus on what to do next but it slipped away from him.

He found himself lying on the bed.

When he raised a hand to touch his forehead, he felt the bandage and tape. He stayed where he was, too tired to move, stared at the ceiling and let the dull throb of the pain envelop him. He closed his eyes, focused on the pounding of his pulse in his temples and above his eyebrow.

His body felt heavy. He couldn’t move anymore. It was all too much.

 

Over the next days, he didn’t remember much.

He had stayed in his room. At some point, Sam must have come by. He vaguely remembered being asked questions, being hugged. And throwing up. So he must have eaten something.

He had no idea how much time had passed. One day? Three days? A week?

Well, if it had been a week, he should’ve starved by now. He took a sip from the bottle on his nightstand. The feeling of the water running down his throat pulled him a little further out of the haze. He got up. After standing in his room for a long while, he decided to take a shower.

He turned the water cold. The shock of the cold water cleared his brain. Thinking got a little easier.

He got out of the shower and sat down on his bed, wrapped in a towel. He figured that if he stayed in his room until they were gone, only going out when he really needed to, he’d be safe. He just had to wait it out.

But what if they never left? What if they wanted to stay? He was sure Sam would want them to stay. He shook his head. They had to leave, had to get back to their own time.

Something felt off. His head still hurt. But it was something else. Was he going to throw up again? He hadn’t eaten anything so that couldn’t be it. The thought of food was strangely appealing.

That was when it hit him. He was hungry. That was the strange feeling in his stomach.

He put on some underwear, his robe and socks.

When he was sure there was no one outside in the hallway, he slowly opened the door of his room. After looking left and right, he got on his way to the kitchen. The closer he came, the worse the crushing anxiety got. When he had reached the door, he paused and listened. Only when he was absolutely sure that no one was inside, he went inside. Dean didn’t switch the light on. He quickly grabbed food and something to drink from the fridge, hid some in his pockets and wrapped the rest in a bag and slid it under his robe.

He stood by the door, listened. It was quiet outside. He opened the door and hurried through the hallway.

Back in the safety of his room, he put what he took on the bed and decided what to eat.

 

Dean lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling when he heard the door open. He jumped and sat up, hurriedly looking around the room to see if he had left anything he took earlier out.

“Hey.” It was Sams’ voice. Soft and calm.

Dean exhaled shakily, most of the tension drained from his body.

Sam opened the door all the way.

Dean glanced behind him, checking if he came alone. But it seemed like he did.

He picked up a tray from the floor and set it down next to Dean.

Sam went to close the door again, then he sat down on the bed. “Do you wanna eat something?”

Dean frowned, he looked down at the tray. A glass of water. A plate with three sandwiches.

He picked up the glass and drank a bit.

Sam was glad to see his brother more responsive than the day before.

Dean looked up at him.

Sam cocked his head. “What is it?”

Dean looked away again. “Why r-“ he stopped, cleared his throat. “Why are bringing me food now?”

Sam frowned. “Dean, I was here every evening.” Panic stole its way into his voice.

Dean huffed.

“You don’t remember?” Sam asked.

Dean continued to stare down at the bed.

“Dean? Look, I know you were pretty out of it but this... I don’t even where to start. You’re clearly not alright. What’s going on? You- you didn’t answer me when I asked you the first night. And that wound on your forehead... I- I don’t know what to do to help you. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s happening! Talk to me!” His voice hitched.

Dean gave a deep sigh. He looked at his brother, looked into his eyes. He had no idea what to say. Forming actual sentences was hard enough already. But apart from that he just didn’t know. Where should he even start? Dean stared at the blanket again. He knew Sam expected the truth. And he deserved it. But... he couldn’t give it to him. Not now.

Sam swallowed hard. “Okay, if you don’t wanna say, that’s fine.”

Dean’s eyes snapped up. Panic ran ice cold down his spine. He had heard that sentence so many times from their father. He tensed, readying himself for whatever was to come.

Sam frowned when he saw the... fear on his brothers face. Had he said something wrong? He raised a hand to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind his ear.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, abruptly turned his head to the side.

Sam paused. “Dean? Hey...” He tried to keep his voice as soft as possible. 

Dean exhaled carefully.

Sam slowly reached out to touch Dean’s shoulder. Dean jumped at the touch. “Dean? Whatever you thought I was gonna do- I don’t- I’m not gonna... hurt you.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. After a while he looked up at Sam. His expression was empty. He saw the worry on Sams’ face, genuine worry. It wasn’t fake. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” Sam squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. “You don’t have to eat now. I’ll just leave them here.”

Dean nodded.

Sam put the plate down on the nightstand and picked up the tray. He stood next to the bed for a while, watched his brother. “Do you want a hug?”

Dean gave a half-hearted shrug.

“That’s not a no.” Sam said. He was about to reach out and pull his brother up but thought better of it. “Are you gonna get up so I can hug you?”

Dean shuffled to the edge of the bed.

Sam reached out and pulled Dean to his feet. He wrapped his arms around him and held him close.

Dean relaxed.

After several minutes Sam pulled back. He patted Dean’s shoulders and smiled at him. “I’ll come by again in the morning.”

Dean nodded. He lay down on the bed again.

A long while after Sam left, he sat up and reached for a sandwich.

 

When he went to Dean’s room the next morning, Sam brought a cup of coffee and a glass of water.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Dean stared at the blanket for a while. “Don’t know.”

Sam frowned but didn’t push. He handed Dean the glass. When he set the coffee down on the nightstand, he noticed all the sandwiches were gone.

Dean handed the now empty glass of water back to his brother.

He held the cup of coffee out to Dean but he shook his head. Sam shrugged but didn’t comment on it. He took a sip of it himself. Then he said: “We’re all gonna go on a trip today. I think we’ll be back by 7 or 8.”

Dean nodded. “Okay.”

“What will you do?” Sam asked.

Dean sighed. “Gonna go to the library and look for a case.”

“Alright.” He smiled a little. At least Dean wanted to do something. “Just... if you find something, don’t go on your own.”

“I won’t.” Dean reassured him. And for once, he meant it.

Sam nodded. “Okay.” He paused. “They should be- I’ll text you when we’re outside.” He took the glass and got up.

Dean lay back down on the bed. He stared up at the ceiling, waiting for his phone to buzz.

  
  


When Sam, John and Mary came home that night, they found Dean passed out in a chair at a table in the library of the bunker. His arms dangled off the sides, his head had sunk onto his chest.

There was an almost empty bottle of whiskey on the table next to several books.

Sam felt a stab of panic ice cold in his chest when he saw the bloody knife behind it. He rushed towards Dean, called out his name. Again and again.

No response.

He cupped his brothers face in his hands. “Dean! Come on, man, don’t do this! Wake up!” His voice hitched.

Dean’s head rolled against the backrest of the armchair.

Sam reached out to take Dean’s arms to get him out of the chair. He froze when he felt something wet on the underside of Dean’s forearms. His heart clenched painfully when his hands came back bloody.

He turned Dean’s arms around. And closed his eyes. He couldn’t hold the tears back anymore.

He opened his eyes again and looked at the cuts on his brothers’ arms. Most of them weren’t bleeding anymore. A slow trickle ran from a deeper one. He pulled Dean’s flannel from the back of the chair and cut off one sleeve to wrap it around Dean’s arm. He made a knot and pulled it tight.

Dean groaned. He slowly lifted his head.

“Hey.” Sam said softly and cupped Dean’s head in a hand.

Dean frowned. He looked confused.

“You’re okay. You’re alright.” Sam said quietly.

Dean still frowned, didn’t say a word. He leaned his head back again. It rolled to the side and he caught sight of John and Mary who stared at him in horror. He closed his eyes and tears ran down his cheeks. His head slumped forward again.

Sam was at a loss. He had no idea what went on his brothers’ mind. “Dean?” he whispered.

Dean heaved a deep sigh and looked up at him. His eyes were dull.

“What’s going on?” He asked softly. “Talk to me.”

“I’m tired.” Dean’s voice was rough and a little slurred. “I don’t want to anymore.”

Sam swallowed hard, his throat was tight, his chest burned. He took a shuddering breath. “There’s always something worth living for.”

“Well, I don’t see it.” he croaked. “All I see is... them... him bringing back a fuck ton of things I don’t wanna remember.” His voice broke and more tears ran down his cheeks.

Sam stayed quiet for a while, processing the information. “Let’s get you to your room.”

Dean sighed. He looked at the table.

Sam turned around to see what he was looking at.

It was the knife.

“No, that’s not happening, Dean. Forget it.” Sam grimly shook his head and reached for his brother.

Dean sighed again but let himself be pulled up.

Together they managed to get to Dean’s room.

Sam got his brother to the bed.

Dean just sat there, staring at his hands and arms.

Sam watched him for a while. Then he sat down next to him and reached out to caress Dean’s shoulder.

Dean looked at him, his expression blank.

Sam fought the tightness in his throat, he pulled Dean in for a hug, held him tight.

Dean sighed softly.

“Can you promise me you won’t try again?” he asked. His brother’s face was pressed against his shoulder.

Dean scoffed.

Sam made a pained noise. “Should I call Cas? Or- or Charlie or Jodie?” he pulled back to look at Dean.

Dean’s head was slumped forward, he chased the touch.

Sam cupped Dean’s face in a hand and tilted it up.

After several minutes Dean answered. “Not Jodie.”

“Okay. So, Cas or Charlie?”

Dean frowned, thinking about it. He knew Charlie would understand him in a way Cas couldn’t. But he didn’t want to make her see him like this.

"I wanna call Charlie." he said. "But you call Cas and tell him to get here."

"Alright." Sam got up and looked for Dean's phone. When he found it he handed it to Dean.

Dean took it and looked through his contacts. He was aware that his brother stood by the door. He looked up. "You can go. Tell Cas to be here in 5."

Sam nodded but looked at him a while longer, worried.

"Shoo, I'll be fine." Dean waved his hand.

It was clear that Sam didn't want to leave but in the end, he did.

 

When Charlie picked up Dean told her that his parents were there.

"Shit. How are you holding up?" she asked.

Dean chuckled dryly. "Just great."

"What happened?" There was worry in her voice.

"According to Sam, I was more or less out of it for a couple of days. And now..." he hesitated. "Well, let's just say that Sam insisted to call someone to go on suicide watch. It's gonna be Cas."

Charlie winced. "I could've come over too you know?"

"Yeah." Dean smiled. "And thanks. But I'm a mess right now. Don't want you to see me like that. Don't wanna do that to you."

She was quiet for a while. "If you need to talk, I'm here. Like... now or... ever. Just call, no matter when."

Dean swallowed hard. "Thank you, Charlie."

"You're welcome." He could hear the smile in her voice. "Let's meet some time."

He nodded. "Sure. I'll call you."

"You better." she replied.

He chuckled. "See ya."

"Bye."

He dropped the phone. When he looked up he saw Cas was there. He hadn't heard him arrive. "Since when are you here?"

"Almost a minute."

Dean nodded.

"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do." Cas admitted.

"You're supposed to keep an eye on me so I don't try to kill myself again." He held his arms out to Cas so he could see the cuts.

Cas winced, he came closer and sat down at the edge of the bed. He looked into Dean's eyes, then he reached out and healed him.

Dean frowned. He tugged the makeshift bandage off his arm. "You didn't need to do that."

"I... felt like I had to.” Cas looked down at his own hands. “I want to help you, but I don't know what else to do."

"Hm." Dean nodded once.

They sat in silence for a while.

Cas got up and sat down on the sideboard in the far corner of the room.

Dean took a shaky breath. Having Cas closer had calmed him for some reason. Now that Cas was further away it felt like he was alone again.

Dean lay down on his side and tucked one arm under the pillow. That way he saw the red marks left by the cuts. They'd fade in a day or two. He slid his fingers over them, felt the small welts. He closed his eyes.

His eyes shot open when someone grabbed his wrist.

Cas.

Dean frowned at him.

“Stop it.” Cas said forcefully.

Dean looked at his arm, saw the red and white marks left by his fingernails. He nodded.

Cas let go of his hand. He stood there for a while, looked at Dean.

Dean stared back at him.

Cas averted his eyes and went away.

Dean took a shaky breath, it hurt, his heart clenched. He watched Cas take off his trench coat. But then he turned around and came back.

The stabbing pain in his chest eased.

Cas sat down on the floor next to Dean’s bed, it left them almost at the same eye level. He stayed still for a while, then he reached out and caressed Dean’s cheek. When he pulled his hand away, he looked at his fingers then back at Dean.

Dean wiped across his cheeks and felt the wetness. Tears. When did he cry? Why hadn’t he noticed?

Cas reached out again. He cupped Dean’s face in his hand, slid his fingers into Dean’s hair.

His eyes fluttered shut. He hummed.

Cas’ eyes widened. For a moment he didn’t know what to do. He had expected Dean to push his hand away. He caressed Dean’s cheek with his thumb. Curled his fingers in Dean’s hair and gently dragged his fingernails over Dean’s scalp.

Dean sighed and the tension drained from his body, his face looked peaceful.

Cas felt his chest warm, he continued stroking through Dean’s hair.

Several minutes after Dean’s breath evened out, he stopped. His fingertips tingled. He curled his hand and held it close to his chest for a moment.

 

When Dean woke up, he turned onto his back. It took him a while to catch up. And even longer until he could open his eyes. He turned onto his side again- and caught sight of Cas.

He still sat there beside the bed, back straight, looking at Dean. It seemed as if he hadn’t moved at all.

“Were you here the whole night?” Dean asked, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Yes.” Cas said simply as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Dean chuckled. “I had an angel watching over me.” Without thinking he pulled an arm out from under the blanket and let it dangle over the edge of the bed, reaching for Cas. Almost touching his chest.

Cas frowned at the hand, clearly confused.

Dean looked away and pulled it back. Fuck, he had been so comfortable that he let his guard down and promptly did something stupid.

Cas reached under the blanket, touched the hand Dean held curled against his chest. He slid his index and middle finger into Dean’s palm and caressed the back of his hand with a thumb.

Dean didn’t jump or pull away. He didn’t even dare to move, scared that Cas might pull away if he did. It felt so nice.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked it please consider leaving kudos/ comments! They brighten my days!! <3
> 
>  
> 
> And here are some bits that I cut but actually liked so I kept them:
> 
> "You drank too much!" Sam gestured at the whiskey bottle, his voice cracking.  
> "Apparently not enough." Dean slurred and eyed the knife.
> 
>  
> 
> "Can you promise me you won't try again?" , he asked. His face pressed against his brother's shoulder.  
> Dean scoffed. "No."  
> Sam made a pained noise. "If they left. How about then?"  
> Dean's hands clenched in the fabric of Sams' shirt. "Yeah." his voice was rough.  
> "Okay. Then..." Sam pulled back, slid a hand up to cup Dean's face. "Stay in your room. I'll work something out."


End file.
